


Potted Plants Versus Flower Bouquets

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, this is a sad one guys!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 21:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17629865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: Peter was so much more than the mask. She’d known that for over a decade. Peter was kind, and he was a genius, and he taught Michelle how to love herself. And no one seemed to care.





	Potted Plants Versus Flower Bouquets

Michelle Parker-Jones was a widow.

 

At the mere age of twenty-eight, her husband was dead. The savior of New York city, Spider-Man, who sacrificed his life so they could all live another day. But he wasn’t  _ just _ Spider-Man. That’s something people don’t seem to understand. As they give her condolences and give her food and say what a shame it is, they talk about Spider-Man. They say, “Oh, he was so brave.” They say, “The city will never be the same.” They say, “Spider-Man has been my idol since I was a kid. I’m so sorry we lost him.”

 

It’s all focused around Spider-Man, how Spider-Man changed the world, how the city was astronomically better because of Spider-Man’s presence. Never, not once, has a stranger walked up to her and mourned with her over the death of Peter Benjamin Parker. 

 

Peter was so much more than the mask. She’d known that for over a decade. Peter was kind, and he was a genius, and he taught Michelle how to love herself. And no one seemed to care.

 

She cared. Her entire body ached and shattered when they put up the Spider-Man memorial statue in Central Park, because that meant no one would bother going out to Peter Parker’s funeral plack.

 

Michelle would go when she missed him. When she missed his smile, or his kisses, or how stupid he looked in the morning. She’d bring flowers, even though he hated flowers. Peter thought, “They’re already dead. Why give someone death when you can give them life, like a potted plant?” Michelle always teased him about it. On Valentine's Day, their birthdays, their anniversaries, Peter would get her a potted plant; Michelle would get him flowers.

 

Every time she visited his grave, which was honestly almost every day, she’d bring a different type. Roses, or violets, or magnolias, and would even go to a different supermarket if none of them had one that felt right. Peter always deserved the best, even in death.

 

In pouring rain, or in blistering snow, Michelle would stand in front of Peter’s grave. In the first days, she had expected him to be resurrected, or something. It was stupid. But, later on, she felt like he knew she was there. She’d smile, her whole body filling with love, thinking about him.

 

And most days, she would talk to him.

 

A month after he died, after a doctor’s appointment, Michelle sat down in the beautiful green grass in front of his grave. There was a herd of teddy bears and flowers that put her’s to shame. Still, Michelle placed the lilies next to her foot, and started talking. 

 

“You know how you always talked about being a dad? And how you picked out hypothetical names and did that weird computer programming thing and showed me and screamed, ‘This is what our kids are gonna look like, MJ! Aren’t they beautiful.’ And then I always shot you down, because I wasn’t ready and I wanted to be further in my career.” Michelle took a long, shaky breath and closed her eyes. She imagined that Peter was in front of her, doing that thing where he’d kindly take her hands and gently rub her palm. “God, I wish we could’ve done this together, Peter. You would’ve been such a good dad.

 

“When the doctor told me, I started crying because I knew you’d never get to meet our baby. But then, she told me that I have the last part of you inside of me that will ever exist. And that you had faith that I would be a good mom. I know she never knew you, but-- I mean, the whole city knows you well enough. Can you just… can you please come back? As a ghost, or something? You’d tell me that’s hilarious, because I don’t believe in ghosts, and I know I don’t, but-- prove me wrong, Parker. For the love of God, prove me wrong.”

**…**

A while later, when the statue had been built in Central Park, Michelle set her bouquet of chrysanthemums so they were leaning against the headstone. She was six months pregnant.

 

“Okay, Peter, I know I said that I was going to wait, but-- I couldn’t. It’s a girl. May is freaking out, she’s so excited. And Ned and Betty and Flash are all coming over this weekend to decorate her room. Yellow walls, and Betty wants to paint her name over her crib in cursive. What do you like better? I’m thinking… Gwendolyn, I know you liked that. Or, maybe we could name her after your aunt. May Parker-Jones. Yes, I’m still hyphenating it. You don’t win that battle just because you--”

 

Abruptly, Michelle cut herself off. She never really said the words out loud. And she wasn’t really planning on it.

 

“Alright, May Parker-Jones it is,” Michelle continued, rubbing her stomach. She could feel her kicking. “I hope she’s exactly like you.”

**…**

The first time Michelle brought May Parker-Jones to visit her father, she was only a few months old. The first time May would remember, though, was when she was five.

 

May looked a lot like her mother, to almost everyone’s dismay. They were all quite blunt about wanting a Peter Parker look alike, but Michelle’s close friends had reacted the way Peter would’ve. And she knew exactly what he would’ve said. “Two beautiful girls. How lucky am I?”

 

Michelle and May were out picking dandelions, and with a piece of long grass, Michelle tied it around the flowers. “Wanna give these to daddy?” she said to her daughter, who happily agreed.

 

They took the subway across town with the dandelions in hand. Michelle let May place them on Peter’s grave, then she pulled May into her lap.

 

“May’s starting school next week,” she told Peter. “She’s going to the same preschool you did, because grandma May  _ insisted _ on it. Not that I really care. If she turns out to be as smart as you are, then we all win. And May already has a best friend, don’t you?” Michelle tickled her daughter’s stomach, who erupted into a fit of laughter.

 

“Cousin Gwen is coming with me!” May cheered. Ned and Betty had named their daughter Gwendolyn, and two years later, named their son Peter. With Michelle’s permission, of course.

 

“And I have been promoted. Senior editor of the Daily Bugle. Here’s where you’d say, ‘ _ Senior? If you’re a senior, then you must’ve repeated 12th grade a million times! _ ’ I miss your jokes. Even if they never made sense. Anyways, May really wanted to see you today. We’re going to come back after her first day of school, so she can tell you everything.”

**…**

Michelle kept her promise, however, had been to Peter’s grave a few days before that. And she didn’t even have any flowers.

 

She had been crying. She was wearing this dress that made her feel ugly, and these shoes that made it hard to walk. Michelle could hardly get her words out of her mouth, but somehow, she managed.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into the overgrown grass. She might’ve been a little drunk. “Peter, I am so, so sorry. I-- I went on a date.” She’d been on a date before, a year ago, and felt so guilty she threw up on the guy’s pants. This, this was different though, for one big reason. “I went on a date, and then we went back to his place, and-- and--

 

“Is it stupid if I say that I was thinking about you the entire time? I was thinking about how different it was. The way you touched me, the way you held me-- it was like this guy had never touched a woman in his life! It felt so  _ wrong _ .

 

“I’m still so in love with you. And, and recently I’ve been reading this old articles about your death. And I think you really would’ve been so happy to hear that the whole city loved you. But none of them the way I still do. I’m-- I’m so sorry, Peter.”

**…**

Eventually, she stopped visiting.

 

She couldn’t exactly tell you why. Michelle’s love for Peter never dimmed, but talking to a headstone would never be the same as talking to him in real life. Her heart felt empty without him around.

 

As May grew older, she started asking more questions about her father. Michelle had to show her photos, and videos, and tell stories about how amazing he was, all without shedding a tear. His voice sent chills down her spine, and seeing him in photos she had forgotten about depressed her to no end.

 

So, Michelle stopped going. And she felt as guilty as she did the night she had sex with that guy.

 

When May was ten, she started showing signs that she had more of Peter in her than they thought. May stuck to things like glue, and one day, ripped the door off its hinges. Michelle had heard that story before.

 

And, for the first time in years, she visited Peter again.

 

“What should I do?” she asked him. “Do I tell her she has this duty do to the same thing you did? Because I-- I don’t want her to be killed. She’s the only part of you I have left, and I don’t think I can handle going through that again. You never said what you’d do if your kid had your powers. So what should I do? Because the Avengers aren’t touching our child with a ten foot pole, not after all the shit they put you through. I just-- You were so good at these things. At decisions.”

 

Thankfully, May had sworn off her father’s vigilante side. And yet, after a few years of suppressing her powers, and researching Spider-Man more and more, May once walked up to her mother, informing her of her final choice. “Dad would be proud of me,” she said, when she was fourteen. The same age Peter was when he started. “With great power comes great responsibility, right? I need to do this, mom. For him.”

 

“But your father was so much  _ more _ than that mask, May. He would’ve wanted you to graduate, and to do brilliant things with your mind, like he was destined to. Spider-Man was only part of his identity.”

 

May Parker-Jones shook her head. She acted like Peter, and gave facial expressions that only Peter gave. It was bone chilling. “Pelase, mom. I’ll do all those things, I just-- I just need to feel close to him. And this is the only way how.”

 

And, she was right. 

 

After fifteen years, New York City had another Spider-Man. Or-- a Spider-Woman. And everyone forgot about Peter Parker.

 

Michelle never would. Because every time May came home with nasty wounds, or straight A’s, or told some stupid joke-- that was all Peter. He raised her and he wasn’t even around.

 

The first time May went out patrolling, Michelle visited Peter’s grave again. She brought a potted plant, because she was reminded of how some things never really should die.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! talk to me abt how much you hate me on twitter (@parkerbjones) but seriously i hope you guys enjoyed this even if it did make you sad <3


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